Brenda Knight Graham's Blog

The Indonesian cherry tree is blooming today, January 20. Today when I look up through the burgundy-laced boughs to the blue, blue sky, I wonder if Charles is looking down at this tree we have so enjoyed together. He went to be with Jesus the day after Christmas and today I’m still struggling with the reality of his leaving. How can it be that he is not walking with me to see the beautiful cherry blossoms against the sky?

My next thought is mixed with humor. Charles is looking at far more beautiful trees, flowers, birds, scenes than I can possibly imagine. He might say, if he could, that this cherry tree is only a tiny fragment, a bit of debris, in comparison with what he’s seeing. And he might tell me that, even better than the beauty of nature is the beauty of the Lord God Himself, along with choirs of angels and encounters with greats like Abraham, King David, and even Billy Graham.

The walk through the valley of the shadow of death is painful, overwhelming, beautiful, strange, terrible, awesome, sweet and, at the same time oh, so bitter. After walking with Charles for sixty years through sunshine and shadow, up glorious peaks and through frightening chasms, I have to say this walk when our paths divide is the hardest. Though I know for a surety where he is and that I will see him again, the stark reality of his empty chair still causes a wrenching ache.

But God gives sweet moments of comfort, of peace that passes all understanding. There are so many expressions of love–a visit from a friend, hugs of lively grandchildren, phone calls, cards, a loaf of banana bread right from the oven, a beautiful flower, or just a quick “checking on you” text. There are lasting memorial gifts sent from loving hearts. There are memories that take my breath away with their sweetness and always, always, a knowledge that God is holding my hand through it all. He sends a bright cardinal to make me smile. And He gives me moments like this one under the cherry tree.

So I look up at the boughs of cherry blossoms and breathe a thank you to God for all my walks with Charles Graham and the assurance that all is well for him now. I picture him walking with a bounce in his step across green pastures, maybe even talking with the Good Shepherd. That’s where he is now.

Why would I be excited about a single tiny yellow blossom on our heavy, thick jasmine vine? After all, in the past, the vine has been so abundantly blessed with blooms that it looked like a huge hunk of butter hanging on the pine tree, enough to butter biscuits for the whole town.

So why the excitement? It was November 20 and that was the first and only jasmine blossom I’d seen all year. The vine developed a serious aphid infestation. Charles sprayed it himself months ago before cancer slowed him down. Later, he had it sprayed twice more. Still, some leaves are brown and twisted. We stop by on our walks and speculate about whether or not it will ever recover. We search for blooms to no avail and walk away, sad.

Then that day in November I stopped by the pine tree and, looking up with hardly any hope, spied that tiny blossom sitting on the end of a tendril as if to be sure it was noticed. I snapped a picture so I could show Charles, who didn’t feel like walking that day, that the jasmine finally had one solitary bloom.

Somehow, as I stood marveling over the little bloom I was reminded of an old hymn, one of those Daddy used to have us sing together whenever one of our family members was leaving for a long absence. We younger kids were sometimes rather uncomfortable during the singing, what with Mamma softly crying and Daddy singing extra loudly. Could we not just get the goodbys over with and race the car down the driveway? But our voices blended with the rest as we obediently sang:

Be not dismayed whate’er betide, God will take care of you. Beneath his wings of love abide; God will take care of you.

God will take care of you; Through every day, O’er all the way. He will take care of you. God will take care of you.

Now, remembering our family flock singing a brother or sister away, I’m encouraged by the words. And by the little golden flower. (By the way, why don’t you type in “God will take care of you lyrics” on your search engine and listen to this old hymn?)

When a great shadow swallows all your sunshine, when there are too many mountains, all too high to scale, cling to the promise symbolized by that little yellow bloom. Alexander Pope expressed it in his poem, “An Essay on Man,” a line of which my parents used to quote often. “Hope springs eternal in the human breast.” Sometimes they quoted that line almost jokingly as when one of their ten children was trying to be first in the supper line, or beat an older sibling with longer legs in a foot race. But we all knew, jokes aside, that Mamma and Daddy really believed that, with God on our side, hope does spring eternal.

I’m thankful for that tiny flower and the hymn reminding us, no matter what illness or trouble abounds, hope springs eternal because “God will take care” of us.

Sometimes what you wish for is already in your hands, or your pocket.

One Saturday morning I noticed Allie watching her phone screen with great interest, moving her phone to various positions as if to catch different sounds. I asked her what she was doing. She explained she had an app for recording and identifying bird calls.

I was excited. I would love to have that app. Could she show me how to download it? She readily began to explain to this cyber delinquent person just what to do. She showed me the app’s icon on her own screen and that’s when the truth hit me.

I already had that app! I just had no clue what it was for. When had I gotten the Merlin app? I have no idea. It had been downloaded in my phone for quite some time. I had wished to know the identity of bird calls, to know the feathered friends who stayed hidden while trilling and warbling. And all the time the ability to identify them was already in my hands.

Now I can hear bird songs and calls, identify the singer, and know something about the many visitors to our happy acre, many whom I never see. These are some of the birds whose calls have been identified in two days time: white-eyed vireo, American robin, cardinal, Carolina wren, blue jay, American finch, northern mockingbird, brown crested flycatcher, red-winged blackbird, flicker, titmouse, chickadee, red-shouldered hawk, downy woodpecker, gray catbird, red-bellied woodpecker, black-and-white warbler, brown thrasher, mourning dove, house sparrow, canada goose, European starling, northern waterthrush, eastern bluebird, yellow-bellied sapsucker, white-breasted nuthatch, Tennessee warbler, and eastern phoebe.

I already had what I needed to identify bird calls, just hadn’t put the app to work. Now I’m wondering if I’m ignoring some other valuable capabilities already in my possession. Could it be that as a child of God I have access to more of His power than I can even imagine? Could it be that, through prayer, I can actually make a difference in the lives of strangers on the other side of the world?

My bottle collection is nothing spectacular. It’s very down-to-earth, simple, and rudimentary. There’s my great aunt De’s smelling salts bottle. There’s a bottle of lavender butterfly seashells from Cape Canaveral saved by my dad and Aunt De about 1915. There’s a flat mayonnaise bottle bought by my son at an antique booth at Calvary’s Mule Day one year. One specimen Charles dug up in our Lane of Palms yard, and another we acquired when visiting a museum in St. Augustine. They’re all plain little bottles–an old coke bottle, a mouthwash bottle, and unidentifiable old medicine bottles.

As any collection does, I think, my bottles bring stories and people to mind. The smelling salts bottle reminds me of the days when women wore brutally tight corsets that caused them to faint sometimes. Those were the days when it was fashionable for a lady to faint at appropriate times, such as into her lover’s arms. I think many households had at least one bottle of smelling salts. The mayonnaise bottle, or jar, reminds me of my son William when he was young, how he knew I liked old things and gave me that relic for Christmas, a tender sweet gift. The bottle of lavender seashells makes me think of my dad homesteading on Cape Canaveral way before NASA, how he made a necklace of similar shells as a gift to my mother when he was courting her.

But, again, they’re all just simple bottles, not worth a dime to most. But one morning I looked up at my simple collection and saw it spotlighted by a beam of sunlight in a way I’d never noticed before. Suddenly the rose and green and lavender colors looked like a setting for a Van Gogh painting. Okay, I’m known to exaggerate!

It dawned on me that, just as a violin becomes an instrument of beauty when a true violinist touches the strings, so common objects, like bottles, can become beautiful in a ray of light. From that thought I was led to consider how the simplest of actions or deeds of kindness, when spotlighted by the Lord God’s pure light, can shine with beauty beyond understanding.

For ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord: walk as children of light. Ephesians 5:8

We arrived at Dr. Leggett’s in the rain. Other clients tramped in from the gray dampness looking slightly disheveled and not very merry about having their teeth checked. Even a young boy taking advantage of the cheerful children’s corner to play his phone games was definitely a bit gloomy looking. Charles and I were so thankful for the long expected rain and so glad our very good dentist was near our home, we couldn’t be gloomy. Even still–the day was somewhat depressing.

Then we were invited back for our appointment and right then the dismal day turned bright. There before us were tables lined with pumpkin personalities created by employees of South Georgia Dental Associates. Pumpkins had been turned into a peacock, a dinosaur, ghosts, a lollipop fantasy, and even a fantastic deer creation. We were invited to vote for our favorite of some fifteen amazing pumpkin characters.

I was torn between the cute little dinosaur just out of his shell and the deer with antlers on his pumpkin head. And then there was the clown with popsicle hair, the pineapple bird house, and the traditional ever-favorite painted jack o’ lantern. But maybe the most unforgettable was the pumpkin witch.

The witch’s face was a green pumpkin turned on its side so the curved stem was a nose. Of course she had a black pointed hat above her glued-on eyes. Purple hair flowed down over a black metallic body. Protruding from the black body were hilarious orange and black-clad legs with pointed-toe black feet ready to kick. That witch looked ready to leap from the table but she was too funny to be scary.

We always feel good about our visits with Dr. Leggett and his warm professional staff. But I’m not sure we’ve ever left with any bigger smiles than we had today. We know Dr. Leggett and all have been praying for Charles as he fights cancer. We appreciate their care and expertise so much. Today, though, we saw a new display of their community spirit. We sure would like to know who wins the pumpkin contest! The humor and creativity warmed and cheered us as we headed back out into the rain.

Last week was special–no ribbons and balloons, no ceremonies, no bands playing–just a special week with grandchildren on fall break. They helped host a ladies meeting, worked in the yard, enjoyed a guest from afar, and even had fun with crisp, warm elephant ears.

Tuesday Charli and Caitlin arrived early ready to get out pretty cups, make coffee and cinnamon rolls, and serve our monthly meeting of Prayer Sisters. They did a great job and earned accolades with the ladies. Of course Nana found other things for them to do around the house that afternoon. But the girls found time to play badminton and enjoy just being girls.

Charli and Kaison came at 7:30 Thursday ready for breakfast and a day of being at Granddaddy’s beck and call. I settled on the front porch to watch the drama unfold. Charles, with help of caregiver Tasha, moved from place to place to oversee from a chair the raking and distributing of straw. The two young teenagers tried to listen to Granddaddy’s quiet voice and figure out just where to rake and where to tuck pine straw around shrubbery. Charli became the main raker while Kaison hauled and scattered. Charles sat down beside me for a few minutes. He said with a glint of humor that the kids had misunderstood him and raked farther than he had intended. “Won’t hurt them,” he said.

Harley Rollins, Charles’s college roommate and our friend for sixty plus years, arrived Thursday afternoon, much to everyone’s delight. Harley had been to Nassau to visit a mission ship called Logos Hope. He said it was much bigger and better equipped than the one he and his wife lived on for a year in the 1960’s selling Christian literature. He came from the ship Logos Hope to our house with a plan to help his old friend. As he raked straw from the carport roof, the rest of the strawing team took up various roles. The roof no longer looks like Anne Hathaway’s thatched roof cottage.

After the strawing job was finished and Kaison had blown debris from the driveway, the young people went to the kitchen to make elephant ears. After simple instructions from Nana they went to work spreading melted butter, sugar and cinnamon on soft taco shells and baking them to crisp curled perfection. This recipe has been a favorite of theirs since they were little. They graciously served all of us on the porch, a festive fall occasion with temperatures turning cooler and a feisty little breeze stirring the scent of cinnamon.

Saturday night we were biting our nails over the Georgia/Auburn football game when a beautiful message pinged on my phone. Our Birmingham granddaughter Mattie had been crowned Miss Trussville, Trussville being a suburb of Birmingham. She was so lovely in a stunning blue evening gown. Can’t wait to see more pictures. It was a very exciting climax to our fall break week!

With the help of our caregiver, Denise, I made grape jelly yesterday. The batch turned out a pretty pink, not very grapey looking. I guess a drop of red food coloring would have brought out the purple, but it is the natural color of a mix of scuppernong and muscadine and it does taste like grapes.

Our walk this morning was so refreshing with a cool breeze blowing oak leaves across our path. Conversations with family and friends include football, school dances, country fairs, as well as grades on calculus and science mixed with antics of pets, even a pet raccoon. We thought this might be our first year to have no pumpkins on the front porch. But, while on an errand in Thomasville, we spied pumpkins at the farmers market. Our caregiver, Alex, was able to pull off and grab a couple of nice ones for us. Later, the kids set them on the porch for us. They look so merry, ready for feasting and fun.

Our cat, Dinji, snagged himself a baby squirrel one day and brought it to the back porch where he ate its head and left the rest for us. Maybe he thought he was blessing us with a gift but I didn’t view it that way. I would have used the picture I made of him devouring his prey, but it was a little too gross. It was good that Charles and Kaison were able to dispose of the poor little squirrel.

October skies always seem bluer than in any other month. Such a beautiful background for the shades of autumn color beginning to develop. The Indonesian cherry tree leaves are the color of pale persimmons but, beside that tree, the Japanese maple has hardly begun to blush.

Pine straw has gathered thickly on the carport roof reminding us of British thatched roofs. In the yard, the straw is so thick in places that the grass hardly shows. Kaison blew off the driveway only three days ago and already it’s strewn with a carpet of red-brown.

We’ve seen few hummingbirds at the feeder all summer but now, on the brink of their return to tropical climes, they have become very active. Sometimes there are two or three vying for spots to enjoy nectar. Are they storing up for the long trip? What an amazing event that is–tiny hummingbirds taking off on a thousand-mile flight. Their GPS is true and accurate, unlike our electronic ones that can land us in a lake if we’re not careful.

This afternoon Charli will be having a photo shoot with friends on our lawn, pine straw and all. Her school’s homecoming dance is tonight. We look forward to the drama!

With pumpkins on the porch and heavenly breezes blowing, we’re ready for October. Our hope is that each of you has a beautiful beginning of autumn as well.

Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning; for in thee do I trust: cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee. Psalms 143:8

It’s fall butterfly time. I remember in past autumns how butterflies feasted on fallen overripe pears, how a studious William worked diligently many afternoons making an insect display for his 5th grade teacher, including butterflies. I remember a beauty Charli netted and put in a jar for observing and releasing. I remember the one we found by the driveway, not broken or crushed, just dead, a yellow and black swallowtail with no more flight in its four wings.

This time of year the butterflies flit faster and higher as if they’re intent on soaking up every last bit of summer’s sun, every single fragrance and tasty delight. The bright little yellow ones fly across the yard, into the neighbor’s garden, and back again. Awesome swallowtails and monarchs clad in orange and black, yellow and black, or deepest blue and rusty gold light momentarily and then are off again to take in one more adventure.

I find it so interesting that butterflies feed on flowers through a straw-like proboscis, that they smell with antennae, and they taste with their feet. They are coldblooded so cannot fly at night as their cousins the moths do. Butterflies have four scaly, colorful wings and, true to the anatomy of all insects, have six legs. Who but our amazing God could have formed such fantastic critters!

According to a report from the Georgia Department of Natural Resources, there are 160 species of butterflies in the state. Those butterfly enthusiasts who study their habits, life cycles, and preferred plants might likely have as many as thirty different species in their back yard. We are not so deliberately enthusiastic. We just enjoy the ones that come, maybe only four or five species, or at the most ten. Our main butterfly magnet is the yellow lantana which blooms from May to October. The butterflies are also attracted to our Mediterranean blue plumbago bush.

I love the analogy of the butterfly’s metamorphosis to a Christian’s spiritual growth. As Christians we, too, are transformed from “the darkness of the cocoon” to the light and freedom of life with Jesus. We are instantly transformed when we make a decision to be a Christ follower. But there is more. As we study and obey the words of God and grow more like Him, we’re transformed daily, or renewed crisis by crisis, as we walk dark valleys and climb rugged mountains.

Speaking of transformation, Charles particularly likes these words in Romans 12:2: And be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.

In observing the butterflies these weeks of September I couldn’t help writing this poem.

Oh, butterfly,
Tasting every flower,
Flying high, dancing
In the sky,
Show me how
To make each moment
The best--
Each sip, each flurry,
Every tilt and turn.
To you
Time means nothing,
Every moment is the essence
Of everything.
From chrysalis to wing spread,
From blossoms below
To ever-stretching sky,
You're ready,
Beautiful and bright,
Making the most
Of your short life.

It was a beautiful Saturday in spite of rain predictions. Doug arrived early and started unloading tables, chairs, a fire pit, and a great generous pot big enough to be a witch’s cauldron. He moved our car out of the carport and set up tables and chairs with help from Jared who had arrived on the scene. It was the first time in our lives we just sat back and watched as others set up the tableau for a family feast in our own yard.

A week before, Doug had called talking about doing a low country boil. I thought he was inviting us to his house in Tallahassee. I told him I didn’t think we were quite able to do that. He hastened to say he meant to bring the low country boil to us. “All you have to do is be there and be ready to eat lots of seafood.” We couldn’t turn that down!

We learned from his daughter, our granddaughter, Amanda, that the low country boil was in lieu of Doug’s birthday party. We began to anticipate the occasion and speculate on weather conditions. What a generous thing for Doug to go to all the trouble of bringing the low country boil to us!

Alex, our caregiver, was with us for the day and was excited about the festivities. We three had ringside seats to watch as Doug, Jared, and Charles Douglas piled potatoes and corn in the now steaming pot of water. The girls–Doug’s wife, Summer, her friend Yolanda, Amanda, and Allie—all brought out delicious dips and we nibbled happily.

The young people were in and out of the activity, always ready to eat, but steering clear of being put to work. Caitlin grinned, half enjoying the teasing about her beginning driving skills. Charli got permission to move PawPaw Doug’s car from one place to another, proving she wasn’t far behind Caitlin in driving skills. Kaison surprised me time and again as he sneaked up beside me to speak to me in his new very deep voice.

Pounds and pounds, bag after bag, of seafood were slid into the steaming pot—crawfish, crab claws, clams, scallops, and shrimp. Then Doug began adding seasoning, lots of it. The aroma was tantalizing.

Finally, Doug and Charles Douglas lifted the steaming basket out of the pot and poured contents with great flare down along the newspaper covered table. Bright corn, crab legs, crawfish, everything all mixed up, laid out for feasting. I was overwhelmed with thanksgiving to God when Charles stood, took his hat off, and asked the Lord’s blessing on the food and the people. Amazing that he felt like standing and speaking! Someone brought colorful steaming plates to us and the rest gathered around the table, leaning this way and that to reach their favorite choices. There was the sharp cracking of crab claws and much laughter as hot seasoning began to burn our lips.

Two of our Cairo Animal Hospital veterinarians dropped by to see Charles, adding even more enjoyment to the afternoon. Though neither Alex Greenberg nor Bo Curles would sit down with us and eat, they enjoyed watching us peel shrimp and bite into the best scallops I ever ate.

When we thought the feast was over and all were nursing our burning lips and stinging eyes, Allie appeared back from a run to Dairy Queen with a big box of ice cream sandwiches. Amazingly, the ice cream instantly calmed the fire on our lips and was such a fun ending to a great time.

When I came across this picture in my photos file I immediately smelled the salty sea and caught a whiff of sunscreen. I remember the blue skies, happy shouts from the beach as swimmers and beach combers played. I took this picture last year when we went to St. George Island, Florida, on a day trip with Will, Christi, and Mattie.

Charles and I sat comfortably in a shady shelter watching the waves, the sun bathers, and the kite flyers. We enjoyed the tales of family members as they came to report on: a crab with one claw, a gigantic wave, and a sand castle of coke-cup-shaped turrets. At noon we spread a delicious picnic for those with sun-kissed cheeks as well as we onlookers. All along, seagulls flew over the waves, then perched for a minute in contemplation on rafters or rails within feet of us. Now and then the birds made some sort of announcement with their distinctive call.

Since I couldn’t roam the beach hunting seashells as I loved to do, others brought shells to me. I listened to an echo of ocean waves in a large broken clam shell. I ran my fingers along the swirls on a hermit crab’s little home. I dusted white sand out of a dark oyster shell. I arranged all of them on the table, along with numerous other shells bearing a hint of sunset on their silky smooth insides. I took a deep breath of salty ocean air and only wished for a moment that I could stand in the surf and feel the sand sucking away from my toes. A seagull lit on a beam above me and stared at me, maybe wondering if I didn’t have a handout. He is a very opportunistic bird.

Years ago I would have been able to shower the gull with bread crumbs, back in the day when that was allowed. With a squawk sounding like an ungreased screen door, he would have snatched a piece of bread right from my hand. Scavengers of the shore, that’s the seagulls. I love to watch them fly just above the water, then dive under and come up with a hapless sea creature. Did I say these birds are opportunistic? It’s not surprising that one will eat absolutely anything he has an opportunity to grab, dead or alive.

Here I am sitting on my porch, far inland, thinking about that seagull who stared at me for a full five minutes. Turned sideways, his distinctive bill looks ready to scoop something up. Idly, I skimmed through online fun facts about seagulls and learned they, unlike most animals and birds, have glands above their eyes that remove salt from the water so they can drink from the sea or from lakes and streams. Being a very sociable bird, the seagull adapts to various locales, though his favorite is the seacoast. His white and gray coloring and vocalization make him readily identifiable.

Thinking the particular bird I met that day is probably dead, I was surprised to learn that seagulls live for 10-20 years, the oldest known being 49. I was not surprised to learn that the Bible mentions seagulls in the long list of unclean foods we should not eat. If I were starving, I’m sure I’d be thankful for a seagull wing or breast. As it is, I do not relish the thought!

I’m glad the seagull can squawk its call, wheel freely over sand, sea, and palms, and come to rest for a short time where I can see him up close and personal. He knows how to make good of any opportunity. I guess I might learn a thing or two from him.

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. Philippians 4:12 (NIV)